Page 109 of White Raven

“You will feel it the most, my dove. You have no immunity to it. It’s an incredible rush. Let go and feel it course through your body. Fly free.” His lips skated over my ear, and my body tingled at the sensation, while my neck and chest prickled. “You are absolutely beautiful. I will very much enjoy our wedding night.” He left a kiss below my ear before pulling his head back. “Morrigan.” The king snapped his fingers, not turning to her. “Marry us.”

She rose from the floor, her eyes blown out, but her expression directed at me was twisted in jealousy.

“Yes, my liege,” said the woman who was supposed to initiate my nuptials to Brynden.

He stepped away from me, facing the room. “Attention, my Ravens!” he called out, overlooking the crowd. Like a performer on a stage, this seemed to be where he shone; his confidence drew you, desperate to see what he did next. “This is not just a party for catching the White Raven, but a celebration of our nuptials tonight!” His booming voice bounced off the walls and curved ceiling. “Our marriage will set my path to becoming the rightful king of all the realms. My offspring will be the true bloodline of future kings over the entire realm!” He winked at a pretty woman. “And queens, of course.”

No hesitation this time: The crowd cheered with excitement, their exuberance almost feral.

Rattled, I had the sensation the ground underneath my feet was crumbling away. Unconsciously, I sought out foundation. Anything I could hold onto. From deep in the room, leaning against a pillar, his dark eyes found mine. Onyx held no emotion in his gaze, indifferent to excitement, shock, or even jealousy, as if he could not be bothered to feel anything. Or possibly he knew this was going to happen.

“Come, my dove.” Gavric grabbed my hand, tugging me to him as the seeress took her place on the dais. “What a perfect night to knull meg hardt under the stars.”

Air forgot to reach my lungs, everything spinning around me quickly while I was stuck in slow motion. I blinked and Morrigan was reciting words my brain couldn’t take in, a red fabric bearing his crest was being tied between our two hands. I blinked again and a ring was slipped onto my finger. A hollowed-out animal horn was put to my lips full of ale, the burn sliding down my throat before he took a drink from the same carafe.

A whimper escaped, fear rattling inside my chest, locked in a cage. Not able to fight what was happening.

“Under the blessing moon of Huginn and Muninn . . .” Morrigan stated, jerking me back to the moment.

“No.” It came out garbled and wavery.

“You are now husband and wife. King and his queen.”

“No,” I stated again, my head shaking as applause and cheers exploded in the room.

“Too late, wife.” His hand dug into the back of my neck, pinching a nerve painfully as he yanked me into him. “You are mine.” He spoke in my ear, a threat in his tone. “Do not ever disobey me again. My reach is further than you know, and I can cause great pain. You understand?”

My chin dipped in reply.

“Good girl.” He sneered, though in a blink he dropped it for a smile. “And you don’t want to ruin this night . . . especially when I still have gifts for you, my dróttning.” Queen.

He yanked me to him, his mouth covering mine. His lips moved sensually, kissing me deeply. Toxins from the flowers floated me away from my mind as my body relished the pleasure of touch. Yet I could feel the cries in my soul trying to reach my integrity, dissipating quickly into vapor when his tongue plunged into my mouth.

It was slow to register, flames prickling over my skin, growing into a harsh throbbing pain from my neck to my chest. Sucking in sharply, I yanked back from the king, my head jerking automatically to the side. I searched the pillar Onyx had been leaning against, like I could feel his anger lashing me.

The spot was empty.

Gavric turned us to the cheering crowd, holding up our hands. “My bride! Let us rejoice!”

More cheers. “All hail the king!”

He grabbed more wine from a tray, shoving one into my left hand. He downed his cup, his thrall eager to refill it again. I stared dizzily down at the ring on my finger, the glinting moonstone set around his crest showing he had a right to me now. I was his wife. What my father feared the most had transpired.

Actually . . . the worst had happened the night of my kidnapping. Maybe that’s why King Stallard never sent anyone for me past our border. His fight had already ended.

It wasn’t in me to give up. King Gavric’s wife or not, I needed to escape. I had to leave before my nineteenth birthday, when my blood would be spilled. Everything depended on it.

“Come, my dove, let us greet our guests as husband and wife.” It wasn’t an option; he clutched the back of my arm, leading us down to the main floor, drawing in the attention like he needed it to survive. Figures crowded us like a mob, curtsying and bowing, their compliments to our union spinning my head. I was drowning in a dark sea of perfume and black feathers, sinking beneath the toxins from the flowers, panic bubbling under the surface.

“Congratulations, your majesty.” Bjørn’s face had me grasping for something familiar to latch onto. My gaze fluttered around, seeking a different Northerner. “My felicitations, my queen.” A strange twinkle in his eyes. Bowing his head, his attention went to the painted marks on my chest that tried to cover Onyx’s. His smirk widened.

“Thank you, Bjørn.” The king nodded, already onto the barrage of guests coming up to congratulate us, no longer paying us much attention.

“My sincerest blessings, my lady.” Bjørn took a sip from the cup in his hand. “Your wedding was . . . short. Just the way I like them.”

“Where is he?” my mouth asked without input from my brain.

“Who, my queen?” Bjørn’s smile widened. “Your husband?” He flicked his head to the king chatting with other nobles. “Or the one you bear the mark of? The one the king ordered to stay far away from you?” Bjørn’s bushy eyebrow curved up. His eyes dancing over my face, humor cavorting on his features. “This is going to be very entertaining.” His laugh rolled out, his head shaking. “Hey, Sölvi?” He nudged the male flock member who held a jug of wine for the king. “Keep them coming.” He slipped a few coins into the flock member’s hand, nodding toward Helvig. The pretty, barely dressed man nodded, tucking the money in his pocket, moving to Gavric to fill his goblet again.